Death of Me
by terra fea
Summary: Immortals cannot have children. Duncan watches over Richie but Methos has no one. What life can death have?


Usual Disclaimers: these characters aren't mine. (I'd be to busy yachting to write fic if they were.) Kevin Bates is OC. But the rest are the beautiful creation of someone else's mind.  
  
Set anytime after Revelation (with the 4 horseman) ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
Methos laid his sword down next to him on the grass and sat exhausted both physically and emotionally. Quickenings weren't easy to take and this hadn't been one he'd wanted. The idea of someone like Kevin Bates in his head was disturbing, if not a bit revolting. Despite the rain that had started out as mist at the challenge, turned into drizzle during the fight, and become torrential at the end, Methos sat on the grass unable, unwilling to move.  
  
Joe Dawson slid a beer across the bar to one of his customers, barely aware of the action. His mind was still on the fight that he had witnessed between the world's oldest man and the scumbag Kevin Bates. He'd figured that Methos had to be extremely skilled to have survived this long. But he had to admit, he'd thought it more a hiding skill than a sword fighting skill. But that fight had been awesome to behold. Methos had moved with such grace, agility, and speed, that it left Bates dead and Joe stunned. He waited for an hour after official closing hoping the immortal would come in for a beer but he waited in vain.  
  
"Beer, Joe" Methos murmured two days later as he slunk onto a bar stool.  
  
"Sure thing." He slid the drink the old guy's way.  
  
Poor beer never stood a chance; it was gone before Joe had time to fill another customer's order.  
  
"Another one please." He said, his usual humor absent, making him look every year his age.  
  
"You alright Methos?" Joe asked.  
  
Methos rubbed his hand on the back of his neck tiredly. "I will be as soon as Bates quiets down."  
  
Watcher Antennae immediately raised, figuratively speaking, on Joe. It was unheard of for an immortal to talk about the quickening experience. "Pretty loud in there huh?" he asked casually.  
  
In place of his answer, Methos' head turned sharply towards the door. A few tense seconds later, Duncan MacLeod strode through the door.  
  
"Hey old man." He said with a smile as he sat down next to him at the bar. "Did you take care of Bates?"  
  
Methos found himself unable to share his friend's jovial spirit.  
  
"Yeah." Was all he said as he downed the second proffered bottle of beer.  
  
"You alright about it?" Duncan was picking up on the other immortal's sullen attitude.  
  
Methos eyed Joe for a minute, weighing what he should admit to in front the watcher. He knew Joe wouldn't miss a word, would probably write some article about it.  
  
"I wish you would have done it, like I asked you to." He finally said sourly. His bad attitude was catching. Duncan frowned.  
  
"We've already been through this. Bates didn't challenge me; he challenged you. You can't always hide Methos."  
  
The beer at Joe's wasn't the first or second, or fifth Methos had had that night and he was feeling it.  
  
"oh really now? So was this some sort of lesson? You're way of making me realize some sort of truth? Forcing me into the active game?"  
  
His voice was rising. "I'm the ancient one, Duncan MacLeod of the clan MacLeod, try remembering that the next time you think you know what's better for me than I do! I do occasionally, know what I'm talking about!" With that, he stormed out of the bar.  
  
Duncan and Dawson stared at each other stunned.  
  
"What did I say?""What did you do?" Joe and Duncan asked at the same time.  
  
"He came to me about two weeks ago asking me to take care of Bates who was hunting him. He said he was an easy quickening but he didn't want it. I was too busy to go hunting an immortal that wasn't looking for me. And I said so."  
  
"What was so important?" Joe couldn't keep the disapproving tone out of his voice and Duncan heard it.  
  
"Richie's been having some trouble." He didn't care to elaborate which was okay, because Joe, as a watcher, already knew. He didn't say he knew, but figured Duncan suspected he knew which was why he didn't elaborate. Why give them any more then their spies can gather?  
  
"A week later, Bates was getting harder to avoid. Methos was practically begging me to take him." He took an exasperated defensive tone.  
  
"What am I supposed to do Joe? Kill every immortal who comes after him? If I start fighting his battles.I'll be doing it forever. Like he said, he's the older one. He can obviously take care of himself."  
  
"But still, he wouldn't have been asking at all if it hadn't been important." Joe scolded. "You should know that. Methos doesn't exactly ask favors.well, except when it comes to Beer."  
  
"I wish I knew why it was so important to him." Duncan said.  
  
"Go find out."  
  
He heard the noise as he felt the buzz. It sounded like Methos was having a fight, but without swords. He could hear things being thrown around the room. He pounded on the door.  
  
"Methos!"  
  
The banging stopped.  
  
"Methos! It's Mac!"  
  
"Go away MacLeod!" came the irate voice.  
  
"Let me in! we need to talk!"  
  
But the door remained closed. He heard Methos from inside.  
  
"I don't want your help anymore. You had your chance. Leave me alone."  
  
"Please Methos."  
  
Silence.  
  
"Methos!" More silence. He was being ignored. Duncan wanted to leave but something was wrong here. This wasn't like Methos.  
  
"I just want to apologize. I should have taken Bates."  
  
The door opened. Methos stood there disheveled. His hair was mussed and his face unshaved.  
  
"What's wrong Methos?"  
  
The old man mumbled incoherently. Duncan couldn't understand. Methos led him to the living room which was in disarray.  
  
"If I'd known you were coming I would have cleaned up."  
  
"Talk to me Methos."  
  
"I just am having a hard time absorbing this quickening. I can't.can't get over it.He just wouldn't stop coming for me. I tried to avoid him. I tried talking to him. Everything. Nothing worked! Even fighting him, I tried to give him an out but he just kept coming!"  
  
He pounded the couch in frustration. "I even beat him and then gave him a chance to back out or I'd take his head. He wouldn't back down. I wanted to give him my head but I couldn't let him have my quickening. He's not the one to get it."  
  
"Why?"  
  
"Why what?"  
  
"Why wouldn't he leave you alone? Why would you offer him so many chances even contemplate losing?"  
  
Methos shrugged.  
  
"Bates deserved to die. He was a low-life psychopath."  
  
With a snarl, Methos punched Duncan viscously, sending the Scot flying.  
  
"Don't talk about him like that!" he snapped.  
  
At Duncan's unbelieving stare as he lay on the floor, Methos knew some explaining was necessary now. He looked at Mac for minute then looked at something else, anything else.  
  
"Kevin Bates, I'm sad to say, was my son."  
  
The words were said quietly and calmly but they might as well have been screamed the way they punched Mac in the gut.  
  
"What?"  
  
Methos gave a rueful half-smile. "Hard to believe that Death could have...or want. a family, isn't it MacLeod? I did. Once. Like you and Richie. I found him younger though, raised him, helped him after first death... " He shrugged. "But that's okay, I have a hard time believing it happened sometimes too."  
  
Sighing, he sat down on the couch and closed his eyes wearily. After a few moments, Duncan assumed the other immortal had fallen asleep. He started to leave, feeling sheepish for the way he'd acted. A low, British voice stopped him.  
  
"But it's okay MacLeod. Go right ahead believing my son was trash and I was obviously never meant to be father material. It's true, after all. He was a serial killer, unstable, and tortured. And I suppose, in a fashion, I made him that way. Death, like father like son."  
  
His eyes had never opened, nor did they now. After a few more moments, MacLeod staying put this time, Methos stirred. "Bloody Hell." He swore softly. He rose from the couch. "Feel like a beer? I know a great spot."  
  
He acted like nothing had happened. But MacLeod could read between the lines.  
  
"Yeah, sure." He said thickly.  
  
~finis 


End file.
